Never Forgotten
by epicfrenchfry
Summary: September 11th started off as just an ordinary day for America. Before the clock struck 12, his life was forever changed. 9/11 one-shot, UsUk friendship, could be taken as more


**This is a tribute to America and the many people who lost their lives on this day, 12 years ago. Since I was like, 1 when the attacks happened, all my information is from Wikipedia, what I learned in school, and common knowledge. Also, I suggest listening to the songs New Divide by Linkin Park, Time of Dying by Three Days Grace, and Hero by Skillet while reading this. They're really good songs for America and 9/11. ****If you want, listen to I Will Not Bow by Breaking Benjamin to get a good visual of America's fury at the end. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia (the anime or the manga). If I did, I obviously wouldn't be on a fanfiction website.**

* * *

**Never Forgotten**

America's day started off normal enough. He woke up at 7:32 in the morning, and after trying unsuccessfully to go back to sleep, got breakfast at McDonald's. He played video games with Tony. He ate a Jell-O pudding cup as he drove to the World Conference, which he was hosting.

When he arrived, he was late. As usual. And, also as usual, England scolded him for being late, then ushered him to his seat so the meeting could start. At this point, it was 8:15.

* * *

America sighed dramatically and plopped his head onto the table. The meeting was soooo dull... He checked his watch impatiently. It was a little after 8:50. Lunch break was at 11:30 and lasted for an hour- that meant he had to wait another two hours before he could try and get lunch break to be moved to 11:00. He was just comparing the ideas of either napping or using the excuse of needing the bathroom to find something to eat. Seriously, at this point he'd eat anything, even one of England's scones! No, he wasn't _that _desperate. He still remembered what happened to Prussia that one time... poor guy almost died.

America was just about to ask to go to the bathroom when a sense of foreboding swept over him. He hesitated. A nation's instincts were hardly ever wrong; he'd had the exact same feeling before the attack on Pearl Harbor. He _should_ listen. But... he was so hungry!

"Germany~" America whined. Germany, who in the middle of yelling at England and France for trying to strangle each other, scowled at him.

"Vhat is it, America? If this isn't important, I swear-"

"I need to pee!" America interrupted. He was lying of course, but the burly blonde wasn't to know that.

Germany blinked, taken aback. He'd expected a plea for lunch break to start early. "Ja, okay. You can go. England, go with him and make sure he doesn't wander."

America sighed. His plan had been that obvious?

"Come on, git! Don't just sit there!" England snapped.

The pair walked down the hallway of the New York City meeting building. England led the way onto the stairs.

"Hey- isn't there an elevator just over there?" America asked, pointing.

England scoffed. "Trust me, you need the exercise."

America laughed obnoxiously. "Oh, shut up old man! You know what your problem is? You're still bitter about the whole Revolution thing!"

Blushing furiously, the Brit denied everything. "N-no! You don't know what you're talking about! Bloody Americans, always assuming things!" He muttered.

* * *

Back in the meeting room, Italy was tugging on Germany's sleeve with an uncharacteristically worried expression on his usually cheerful face. "Doitsu? Doitsu!" he persisted.

"Vhat? Vhat do you want now?" Germany snapped. Italy pointed silently out the window.

A passenger plane was flying far lower than it should have been, considering there wasn't an airport nearby. As they watched, it swerved down, heading straight for the Twin Towers. At 8:46am, Flight 11 crashed into the North Tower.

Liechtenstein screamed in horror. Switzerland pulled a gun from seemingly nowhere, ready to blast the head right off the shoulders of whoever dared traumatize his adopted younger sister, but there was no one to shoot.

People on the streets were screaming, too. Thick coils of black smoke and flames curled into the sky. Many of the people were standing transfixed, staring at the awful sight of tragedy. Most were thinking something along the lines of: "Wow, what a horrible accident. Those poor people!"

If only they knew.

* * *

America and England had just arrived at the bathroom (a completely pointless trip) when America uttered a small cry of pain and fell to his knees. A stabbing pain rocketed through his chest, stopping his lungs so he struggled to breathe. Pain in his chest? Not being able to breathe? The World Trade Center! If it was his heart in pain, it would be his capital under attack, but if it was his lungs...

He looked up, his vision blurry. He'd dropped his glasses. England passed them to him silently, his eyes misted with concern. "America?" he asked softly.

"The World Trade Center... under attack..." America gasped. He put on his glasses gladly and leaned into his friend for support while he tried to breathe through the pain. It almost felt like a hole was blow through- but no. It couldn't have been... could it?

It wasn't 15 minutes before another lightning-flash of pain shot through him. He screwed his eyes shut. Terrorists. This was no accident. His country was under attack. A few tears leaked through his tightly shut eyelids and he hurriedly wiped them away. That was what they wanted, wasn't it? They wanted to see him in pain. They wanted to hurt him. He wouldn't give them that satisfaction. He was a hero, and heroes didn't help the bad guys.

They sat there for what felt like hours. After a while, England stood up and dusted himself off, holding out a hand to help up America. He accepted it gratefully and straightened his bomber jacket, trying his best to regain lost dignity.

"I'm okay. We should get back, or Germany will have our heads and France will get the wrong idea." he said. England nodded, studying him decisively. It was only too obvious that he wasn't at all okay.

* * *

The second they set foot back in the room, America was bombarded by questions.

"What happened?"

"What's going on?"

"Hey, hamburger bastard! Are you okay?"

"Was it an accident?"

"No stupid, obviously it was on purpose! It happened twice! That's so not awesome!"

"Shut up Prussia! Why are you here, anyways? You're not even a country anymore!"

"Mein unawesome bruder Germany said I wasn't allowed to be home alone anymore since I kept throwing parties and trashing the place."

"Idiot."

"Shut up, Hungary! You're just jealous that I'm awesome and you're not."

"Here's an idea! Why don't the _both _of you shut up?"

"Stay out of it, Turkey! Nobody likes you!"

"You're wrong! Japan likes me, right Japan?"

"Oh, er..."

"Leave Japan alone, Turkey."

"Go away, Greece! Japan likes me best!"

"No. He likes me best."

"ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!" Germany screamed. Silence fell at once. Some of the more timid nations, like the Baltics, jumped and cast him fearful looks. "Instead of arguing, ask America _one at a time_ what happened."

Before anyone could say a word, America spoke up. "Terrorists. Isn't it obvious? My country is under attack, and one of you is responsible." He fixed his prime suspects with a venomous glare.

As the accused were opening their mouths to protest, a massive rumbling shook the building and they rushed to the window. At 9:58, the South Tower collapsed. America gave a strangled whimper. The floor seemed to be falling out from beneath him, falling into nothing. The people... All those people that were inside the tower. They had to be saved! He had to save them!

He whispered this, chanted it quietly like a mantra as he took a couple shaky steps towards the door and almost fell over. His breathing was heavy and labored. Prussia dived to steady him, but he shrugged him off and stumbled out the door. Very quickly, he broke into a run.

Bursting through the doors and into the sunlight, he careened to the left and sprinted towards the wreckage. He was dimly aware that England and the others were following him, intent upon helping him, but he paid them no heed. He had to save his citizens. He skidded onto the scene and pushed through the crowd, heading straight for the South Tower. England barely paused before running after him.

"You don't have to help. None of you do." America said, glancing at him skeptically.

"I know I don't have to." England replied simply. "But I want to. You're my brother, America. Nothing you will say or have said in the past will change that." America winced at the reminder of the harsh words spoken that day on that rainy battlefield. The day the underdog colony unexpectedly won the war against the superpower nation. The day the great British Empire fell sobbing at his feet. The day he turned his back on his beloved big brother and dived head-first into a future of heartbreak, challenges, and uncertainty.

But now, there was no time for regrets. His people lay trapped in the ruins of a fallen tower, and the other was bound to follow. He had to save them, and quickly. "Come on, then." America started heaving pieces of steel and broken glass aside. He could sense the lives of the people in this wreck. They were fading. Gradually, the other nations and some of America's citizens started helping, and they were able to pull a small group of people from the mess, along with a number of bodies. America could literally feel the lives slipping away before him, every one. It made him light-headed.

After a little while, England fell silent. America looked over at him worriedly.

"What's wrong, mon ami?" France asked. England ignored him. "Amerique, what is wrong with Angleterre?"

"I dunno." America shrugged. "England?"

England looked at him. He was clutching the sweater of a young woman who couldn't have been older than 28 and looked haunted. The lady's curly auburn hair was tangled and lay askew around her face. Scratches and cuts decorated her pale skin. "Her name was Carrie Knickle. Born in London and grew up in Birmingham, moved to New York two years ago for work. Single mother of three year old twin girls- the father left her when he found out she was pregnant." He looked back down. "See, America? This doesn't just effect you. I'd bet that almost every one of us here has at least one citizen who died here today. This involves all of us."

He was cut off by another rumble. The people surged back to a safe distance, but America refused to stop searching. England and Germany seized him by the arms and had to drag him away, repeatedly promising that they would return to searching after it was safe. America kept stubbornly repeating that he didn't _care_, he needed to go back and help.

At 10:28, the North Tower fell.

America gazed at the smoldering heaps of what used to be the two tallest buildings in the world. He seemed frozen to the ground, staring. A feeling of darkness rose in his stomach, lashing through him violently. He felt humiliated and furious. What kind of hero was he? A pretty poor one. He couldn't stop a simple terrorist attack. The little voice in his head reminded him snobbishly of how England always said it would be his pride that destroyed him. He was right apparently, because if this wasn't destroyed he didn't know what was. He remembered how England was after the bombing of London in 1940. That had lasted for 57 nights, and in the end had nearly killed him. His capital, his heart, was completely demolished, blown to bits.

That was how America felt now. And it was that moment that he swore to himself that he would never forget. He would hunt down the bastards that did it and make them pay. He would make them suffer the way he did. He would get his revenge, no matter how long it took. He would never give up.

He swore in that moment that these people who died would never be forgotten, that they didn't die for nothing.

The world would forever know just what happened this day, September 11th, 2001.


End file.
